


Gentle Hands

by NovemberMurray



Series: Ember's Week of Mandomera [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Awkward Din Djarin, But only a little, Descriptions of Injury, During Chapter 4 the Sanctuary, F/M, Fluff, Grogu and Winta are siblings, Implied/ Referenced violence, Mandomera Week 2021, Mutual Pining, Omera opens up about her past, Pining, hand holding, patching up wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberMurray/pseuds/NovemberMurray
Summary: As Din lets the Sorgan villagers return to their usual work after blaster training, he notices Omera is injured.--Mandomera Week 2021 - Day 2
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Series: Ember's Week of Mandomera [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194752
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	1. Mera

**Author's Note:**

> Short one today, but hopeful you find it sweet.

“That will be enough for today,” Din told the group of farmers standing before the makeshift range holding his blasters awkwardly. He held back a sigh of resignation. “You can put the weapons back in their cases and remember to engage the safeties.” The farmers shuffled to comply, talking softly among themselves. Din watched them with his hands on his hips as they peeled off in small groups to return to their day’s work. They kept their heads down and gaze away from him, afraid to meet his eyes. All except Omera, she flashed him a smile before trying to pass him on the path around the krill ponds. He put a hand out to stop her.

“Wait a moment, please?”

Omera’s friends, two of the other mothers of the village exchanged quick worried glances.

“Of course,” Omera answered easily and waved the other women along. “Do you need assistance cleaning these weapons?”

“No. I can handle that.” Din shook his head and led her over to a dingy white supply crate he had brought out in case of emergencies, kicking it open with his boot and rummaging out a tube of bacta and a roll of bandages. “Sit.” He kicked the crate shut again and waved at it. 

Omera got a wry look, a lopsided half smile, of one caught hiding something, but she sank down onto the crate without complaint. He knelt before her and without needing to be asked she presented her left hand. Across the top half of her palm and the lowest sections of her first and middle finger was a swelling angry red burn. Behind his helmet Din frowned at the injury that marred her coppery skin. She didn’t have the soft skinned hands of a child or a woman with an easy life, but he found a resentment rising in his throat like bile for anything that caused her pain. 

“What happened?” He asked, gently cradling her palm in his as he squeezed some of the bacta onto the wound. The greenish clear gel oozing over the forming welts made her flinch.

“Just an accident. Junia forgot herself for a moment. She turned with the blaster in hand and it was pointed right at Lor. The barrel was still hot when I pushed it down to a safe angle, but a small burn is easier to heal than an accidental blaster shot.”

Din’s hidden frown deepened and his brow furrowed. He spread the gel as gently as he could but his leather gloves made him a little clumsy. Her breath caught when the seams brushed too hard against her damaged skin. He whipped the excess gel on his pants and started wrapping her hand to seal the bacta in and protect from infections.

“I will review safe blaster handling more thoroughly with the next group and yours tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Omera assured him, too kind by half and too forgiving overall. Someone could have been seriously hurt; they both knew it.

“Gloves.”

“What?”

“You should wear gloves, at least until this burn heals.”

“I always felt they interfered with my aim,” Omera said with a shake of her head. It made her long hair roll in dark waves. “My sister— we called each other sisters anyway— thought that was ridiculous.” She chuckled, perhaps at a fond memory,her voice taking on a distant quality as she sighed. “Fen would laugh at how sloppy I’ve become. But she always was the better shot. ‘I can teach you to shoot, but I can’t teach talent,’ she would say.” 

Din huffed and tied off the bandage. “The Mandalorians who trained me would say: ‘Talent is nothing. Dedication, training, and practice are what make the difference.’” 

“She had those things too.” Omera was looking away when she answered, towards the tree-line but Din doubted she was really seeing anything there. 

“Where is she now, your sister?” 

“I don’t know.” Omera shook her head and her gaze dropped to her lap. “Our lives went very different directions. She could be long dead for all I know. She wasn’t the type to have a retirement plan.” 

_Like me,_ Din thought and it made the sadness in Omera’s voice harder to hear. 

“Thank you,” she said, shaking herself out of her reminisce, “for the bacta and the bandage.” She pulled her hand away and Din realized with start he had still been cradling it between his own. His gloves held the residual heat of her skin. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, cursing how his voice came out stilted and awkward. He hurried to stand, stumbling a bit over his own feet. He would have offered her a hand up but she was already rising. She flashed him a small smile before walking away. He was left holding the bacta and watching her go with his heart racing faster than normal in his chest. 

_Stupid,_ he told himself. _One tender moment and the briefest glimpse of her background and you’re worked up. Nothing can come of it. Don’t get attached._ He dropped the bacta back into the med case, biting back a growl of frustration. 

A cooing laugh across the krill pond drew his attention and Din turned to find the child with his gaze. The little green kid was sitting beside Omera’s daughter with a ball of twisted dried reeds in front of him. The little girl had a lopsided tangle as well but it was at least taking on a bowl like shape as she practiced her basket weaving. Omera came up to stand over them, grinning and offering kind encouragement. Din knew he shouldn’t watch, he had blasters to clean and barricades to check, but he told that nagging part of his mind to stay silent for a moment and sat back on his heels. He watched Omera settle the green child in her lap and give her daughter gentle instructions. He told himself it didn’t make his heart ache, but then he couldn’t explain why there was a pain in his chest.


	2. Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The followup with "Fen"...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested.
> 
> This takes place sometime post cannon.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Fennec said, brushing blood and sand off her gloved hands and jumping down from the back of the pick-up speeder. Piled on the bed of the vehicle were the varied corpses of half a dozen slavers that— until a few hours ago— had been terrorizing the southern Dune Sea. 

Din looked around at the emptied camp around them, a handful of tents and scattered crates baking under the twin suns amid the endless sand, checking for any last body they might have overlooked. What Boba Fett wanted with the bodies of the criminals who defied his recently established rule, Din wasn’t sure and wasn’t inclined to ask. He’d come to Tatooine out of his early— and blissful— retirement as a favor to Fett, not to get involved. 

“On to the next location?” Din asked wearily. They’d already hit two, leaving two more to clear out before they met back up with Fett and Vanth at the Palace.

“In a moment,” Fennec replied. “First, come sit down over here.” She waved him over to a pile of crates where there was an open med kit strewn across a tattered blanket on the sand. Fennec started scavenging through it, ignoring the large wet red circle of sand right beside her knee. 

Din groaned and followed, plopping himself down on a crate beside Fennec.

“I saw your shoulder was bothering you still,” she said, gathering a few packages and a bottle of disinfectant. Her gaze flickered over towards his left shoulder where his flight suit was torn and a white bandage showed over the recently cauterized knife wound from the previous night.

“It’s fine,” Din said. 

“Sure. But Boba would feel bad if you lost an arm over this little favor. Let me have a look.”

Din’s incredulity must have shown in the tilt of his helmet or Fennec was telepathic because she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, really. I know a thing or two about first aid. Don’t live as long as I have in this business without it.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Din said. 

“That’s the most personal detail you’ve ever shared with me,” Fennec said, somehow managing to make it sound mocking.

She sat on the other end of the crate and got to work pulling off the bandage without waiting for Din’s permission. He hissed at the relieved pressure and the heat of her gloves against the injury. He glanced over to see his skin beneath was an angry red around the cauterized line of the knife wound. 

“Yikes,” Fennec hissed. “That’s infected. I’ll probably have to cut it open and drain it.”

“Do what you need to do.”

“Predictably all the pain killers are gone from that pack,” she informed him.

“Had worse.”

“Figured. Hold still.”

Din pulled his own vibroblade out of his boot and handed it to her wordlessly. He tried not to grit his teeth too hard and gripped his knee with his right hand as he braced for the pain. Fennec was not a gentle nurse, that was for sure. But she was at least fast and efficient, slicing open the burned edges of the wound and diligently flushing it with antiseptic. Din was reminding himself how to breath and blinking back tears and spots of black from his eyes when Fennec ripped open the suture pack and started threading a hooked needle.

“Better not to burn it shut again in case the infection is deeper. I’ll bandage it up good and tight to keep the worst of the sand out till you’re back to the Palace.”

“I can do that,” He said, somewhat breathless. Fennec just smacked his hand out of the way. 

He turned so his HUD gave him a decent view of what she was doing on his arm. He’d long ago lost the nausea that came with seeing his own flesh pulled and pinched by needles and worse equipment. To his surprise Fennec was making neat and precise work of stitching the gash closed. 

“You’re pretty good at that.”

She made a huffing noise and pulled a rare wry smile. “My sister taught me. She’d be pretty exasperated to see what I’m putting those skills to use for now. She was trying to teach me to make baby clothing or something.” 

“I can’t imagine that,” Din said with a chuckle.

“‘Mera was that kind of person,” Fennec went on. “Always helping someone and always nagging  _ me. _ She’d say ‘What are you gonna do when you’re too old and too slow, Fen?’ Know what I said? ‘I guess I’ll die.’” Fennec tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. “But then I didn’t. Woke up with a stomach full of metal. Now…” She opened a sterile bandage pack and started wrapping Din’s arm. “I don’t know, maybe I do need a retirement plan after all. Seems to be working out well for  _ you _ .” 

“Certainly has its benefits.” Din said thinking of the cool Sorgan breezes, a nice bath to wash away the days of sweat and strong skillful hands rubbing tension from his shoulders. Something else was tickling at the back of his mind though, distracting him from his imaginings, a vague memory of a conversation… a name… a hint of a story…

“Oh yeah?” Fennec said, raising one eyebrow. “Want to help me win the bet I have with Boba? Tell me these  _ ‘benefits’  _ have a name, maybe a pretty face and a warm bed.”

Din sighed, more out of habit than actual exasperation. Every time he came to help Boba out Fennec would needle him about who he spent his off-time with. She didn’t say exactly what the bet was, but Din wasn’t gonna take away her amusement by giving her an easy answer.

“Alright.” Fennec stood up suddenly, grabbing her rifle from the sand. “Let’s get on with it before those corpses start to stink worse than they already do.”

“You know, you could try it out,” Din said, following her towards the speeder. 

“What?”

“Retirement. Come with me after this job, just for a week or two.” 

“You’re not serious,” Fennec said, looking back at him incredulously. 

“I am.”

Fennec turned around to stare him down straight on. “What? You’re gonna take me back to your love nest and introduce me to your lady friend?” 

Din hesitated before answering simply, “yes.” He walked away before Fennec could recover her usual stoicism from the shock he left her in. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” She said, climbing into the speeder beside him. Din smiled under his helmet because he knew she was hooked. 

* * *

He set the  _ Mudhorn _ down in the field just south of the village he had cleared for just this purpose. It was only large enough for his little star-hopper to land, close enough no one could make land-fall without alerting the village, but far enough away there would be time to prepare if anyone unfriendly used it. Fennec looked around the forest she could see out of the view port, then over at Din with an expression that said more succinctly than words:  _ ‘Really? Here? Of all the places in the galaxy?’  _ Din suppressed his chuckles and headed down to get his bag from his bunk. 

His helmet’s audio sensors picked out the sound of running feet approaching before he saw the small figure darting through the trees down the path from the village. He picked up his pace ahead of Fennec down the boarding ramp and reached up to pull off his helmet. Behind him, Fennec’s steps faltered and halted. He thought he might have been able to hear her jaw dropping.

“ _ Din-buir!” _ Winta squealed as she burst into the clearing at full tilt. 

“ _ Win’ika _ ” Din greeted her with a wide smile, stepping forward to scoop her up as her arms latched around his shoulders, heedless of the hard beskar pauldrons. She squeezed him just as hard as he squeezed her. “I missed you!” He said, running a hand over her dark hair. 

Winta pulled back and scrunched up her face with concentration. She tripped a little over the words of her reply in the unfamiliar language:  _ “Ni briikase gar yaimpa.”  _ (I’m glad you’re home.)

Din’s eyes grew wide with surprise.  _ “Ori’jate, ad’ika. (Very good, little one.) Gar ru’cuyi hibira’la.  _ You’ve been practicing.” He repeated the last phrase in basic for her. 

She grinned at him with pride, nodding. Then her eyes flickered over his shoulder and she leaned around in his arms to look at his guest. 

“Did you bring a friend?” She asked. 

“Not exactly,” Din replied, shifting her onto one of his hips for easier carrying, as she showed no intention of letting him go yet.

“Winta! What did I say about running ahead?” Omera’s voice called from the tree line. She jogged into the clearing looking slightly winded, but her anxious expression melted into joy seeing her daughter and husband.

“I knew it was  _ buir’s _ ship,” Winta argued. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s…” Omera trailed off as her eyes too flickered from Din to the figure still standing frozen on the boarding ramp of the ship. Omera’s jaw fell lax and she took two slow, dazed steps forward. Fennec walked down the ramp at the same hesitant pace, her eyes locked on the other woman. 

“Fen?” Omera breathed her long lost sister’s nickname.

“Hey ‘Mera.” Fennec said, the clear lump in her throat ruining her usual casual demeanor. “I didn’t know—” 

Omera didn’t let Fennec finish, bounding across the space between them to envelope her sister in a tight embrace. Slowly and stiffly at first, Fennec’s arms came up to hold Omera back, then took a firm hold of the other woman’s rough spun dress and gripped her back just as tightly. 

“Come on,” Din whispered to Winta. “Let’s let your aunt catch up with your momma for a bit.” 

“Aunt? I have  _ another _ aunt?” Winta asked. 

“I’ll tell you all about her,” Din offered, starting toward the path back to the house.  _ Well, all the child appropriate parts at least, _ he amended silently. 

“She’s so cool looking,” Winta whispered against Din’s shoulder, unabashedly watching Fennec and her mother disappearing between the trees. “Is she more or less scary than Aunt Cara?”

Din chuckled and bounced Winta on his hip. He loved his daughter truely; she had her priorities straight. Winta didn’t question the existence of her new aunt, but skipped right ahead to the important questions.

“Like, who would win in a fight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to kitkitkitkit1, Sheena_Is_A_Punk_Rocker, GraceEliz, and TheGodWith5Yen for leaving comments on the first part! I hope you liked the continuation.


End file.
